


Stroking The Flame

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: Still Burning [1]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, Love/Hate, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Humor, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 07:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: Left to their own devices while the rest of their respective team is out, a pair of Primes rekindled an old flame.With a lot more snarking, snapping, biting and resentment than before, of course.Somehow, it doesn't change much to their relationship (but it certainly makes it a lot hotter).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eh eh, it's been a while since I last wrote a Sentinel Prime fic, isn't it? It just crept up on me recently, and I couldn't resist (not could I resist the lure of the sequel, which I still need to edit and which will definitely join up the Woes series) ^^
> 
> And since today is a special day and I'm one year older (huzzah?), I think it's time for a special treat ^^
> 
> Enjoy your reading, dear readers. :)

How they tumbled in a berth together was a mystery, but they still did.

Or perhaps it wasn’t so much a mystery as it was a logical consequence of seeing each other again in person after so long.

Sure, they kept yelling at each other (or rather, Sentinel yelled at Optimus, and Optimus squared his jaw and let it wash over him. Mostly), they exchanged dark looks, they snapped not-quite-insults at each other (again, Sentinel let out condescending words that were borderline acceptable and Optimus bore them. Mostly. Then he answered in kin, because like it or not, they still were on Optimus’ turf and HE was the one who knew the most about locals and potential threats on this planet, not Sentinel),…

If it had been anyone but Sentinel, perhaps Optimus would have snapped already. But it was Sentinel: even if they were truly of the same rank when it came to that and the blue mech’s _Primer Prime_ argument had no value whatsoever, Sentinel did remain the Prime in charge of the Elite Guard and the first in line for Ultra Magnus’ succession should anything happen to the older mech, whereas Optimus was just in charge of repair crew. There was a gap here which was hard to deny.

Now, Optimus had reconciled himself with the fact he was a wash-up a long time ago. But Bumblebee still held so much hope he could join the Guard one day, and Sentinel could hold grudges like no one, and if Optimus pushed his buttons wrong, he was certain the other Prime would turn down any application presented by Optimus’ friends or from any mech under his orders. So he held hit glossa and grinded his dental plates and tried very hard to stay patient and civil and professional, because they had a job to do, slag it.

Besides…

No matter how sour things were between them at the moment, Sentinel and Optimus _had_ been close friends. Close friends who happened to stumble into each other berth on a semi-regular basis, in order to blow some steam.

(There had been a third person involved as well, but her name was not spoken aloud when they could avoid it, less they’d start truly shouting at each other.)

It was in the past, of course. That relationship had crashed and burned a long time ago. But no matter how much Sentinel might protest, no matter how stern and detached Optimus tried to be… when they saw each other face to face, it was hard for both of them to deny there was still **something** between them.

It wasn’t something pretty or nice or easy, but it was still there, needling them and creating what Ratchet, Prowl, Jazz and Ultra Magnus all agree to describe as a growing sexual tension both Primes should just get rid of so they could go back to being professionals.

(Bumblebee and Bulkhead were without opinion on the matter, for the youngest Autobots didn’t have the experience and maturity to recognize Sentinel and Optimus’ relationship for what it was. Perhaps it was just as well; Bumblebee would never have been able to shut up about it if he had known.)

Of course it wasn’t that simple. As much as it grated, Ratchet and Prowl privately admitted that Optimus was as pig-o-tron headed as Sentinel, and just as stubborn. If someone even mentioned the fact the two of them should just drop everything they were doing and go frag or something, the red and blue mech would glare at them, square his shoulders and dive back into work with gusto, denying there was anything between him and Sentinel Prime all the way through. As for Sentinel himself… Yes, better not go that way. Kup had been very liberal in his use of swear words back in boot camp and Sentinel had memorized a lot of them and had no qualms about using them when he was angry enough.

So… some subtlety was needed in order to make them ask on their desires.

Granted, all evacuating the base so they were left all alone wasn’t exactly subtle, but as Ratchet pointed out, neither Sentinel nor Optimus was particularly subtle themselves. Well, Sentinel wasn’t; Optimus was too busy steaming or throwing heated looks toward the other Prime to realize when he was being manipulated.

So what if Prowl and Bumblebee and Bulkhead had promised Sari to go camping with her again right now? Nothing wrong or suspicious with that. And what if Ratchet had decided that it was his turn to show Ultra Magnus and Jazz around and brief them on humans and how little threat they were to Cybertronians (on a biochemical matter, anyway) while they were out? He was a doctor, it was his job to explain those things.

And if they happened to just join Prowl, Bulkhead, Bumblebee and Sari while they were at it… well, it was just so the Elite Guard could learn more about Earth, right?

And of course someone had to stay to keep an optic on the Steelhaven and the base, and Sentinel and Optimus were just perfect for it, were they not?

And that was what they were doing right now.

Kinda.

To be honest, they had started their alone time by acting professional and as befitting of Primes – by staring at screens that showed nothing interesting and checking up every few kliks if they had received a message, because then they wouldn’t have had to speak to each other and try and make a painful attempt at small talk.

Sadly, there was no such chance.

(Ultra Magnus would readily admit to Jazz that he had arranged for all oncoming messages to the Steelhaven be rerooted toward his personal comm. system, thank to a new device he was trying out for Perceptor.) 

Silence could only stretch so much between them before one of them caved in and started to talk. Or bark orders, whatever came first. Which were obeyed at first with reluctance, then with annoyance, then as tempers grew shorter, were totally refused without a good reason (and no, being the _Primer Prime_ wasn’t a good reason, thank you very much.

How course they had both jumped to their feet and started glaring at each other and scream and throw wild accusations about rank, petty grudges, seeking to take the other’s place (three guesses and the first two don’t count), and a very sore and specific incident which had spent both their lives careening out of control, involving a dead friend who wasn’t dead and giant spiders who they both reluctantly confessed still being scared of and having nightmares about.

They had screamed, and screamed…

And suddenly, on impulse, Optimus had launched himself at Sentinel and started kissing him. Roughly. Possessively. Nothing mattered but Sentinel’s lips, his shocked expression and the fact he was blessedly silent for a precious few kliks. Sentinel’s lips still tasted the same, much to his surprise, and they were still as supple as he remembered against his.

Slag, he had missed it.

It could have stopped there. Sentinel could have pushed Optimus away, claimed he had been in too much shock to do it before, and used it to make a report to put Optimus in deep trouble – assaulting an officer, the nerves!

He could have.

Instead, Sentinel returned the kiss. It was just as rough on his end as it was on Optimus’ own, devouring. Hands shot up and while Optimus held Sentinel’s head between his, Sentinel’s owns went for Optimus’ aft and grabbed it, giving it an appreciative squeeze. It still felt perfect in his hands, even after all this time.

“Your room?” Optimus asked after they finally stopped kissing, cheeks red and lips swollen – Sentinel had bitten him. Just a nip, but Optimus always had sensitive lips.

Sentinel gave a jerky nod. Of course, his room; Optimus’ pitiful excuse for a base wasn’t fit for anything but hosting Turbo-Rats and they weren’t going to frag in the hallways like savages (or Decepticons; both were synonyms in Sentinel’s CPU).

(It should be stated however that despite Autobot propaganda and the content of the many cross-factions, banned novels the Elite Guard kept seizing and which Sentinel may or may not have perused through by curiosity, Decepticons seldom interfaced in the hallways themselves. Megatron preferred to avoid unfortunate opticsfuls if he could and he didn’t wish to see THAT much of the troops under his orders. That said, there was always a commander or two more tolerant about their subordinates’ antics, so it wasn’t as if there wasn’t a grain of truth in the rumors.)

They didn’t quite walk to Sentinel’s quarters. One could say they stumbled. Or hobbled. Or dragged themselves to. What was certain was that they didn’t stay idle. There was more rough kissing, and a few pinning against walls, and hands in places that shouldn’t be mentioned just yet. Sentinel dimly made note to seize any potential security footage later and utterly destroy them, less anyone discovered he was tumbling around with Maintenance Prime of all mechs.

By the time Sentinel was entering the code to unlock the door, Optimus had his hands on his hips and was grinding himself eagerly against Sentinel’s aft, despite Sentinel’s half-hearted attempt at bucking out of the handle. He did yelp, however, when Optimus bite his neck cabling.

“Frag!”

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” Optimus groaned as he pushed Sentinel forward, the door automatically closing behind them.

They pushed and pawned at each other, kissing, biting, grabbing, muttering things under their breath. No sweet, loving words and platitude and no pet names either.

(They had attempted that only once before and had both found it so awkward and ridiculous that they had ended laughing their head off, the mood to interface entirely spoiled. It had still ended in a memorable evening of cuddling on the couch with terrible movies on, just laughing and enjoying each other’s presence. At least until they started to disagree on which movie to watch next and how awful or not some of the actors were.)

Instead, they described what they intended to do to the other.

“Going to frag you so hard you’re going to walk bow-legged for an orn!”

“Not if I do you first! Going to shove it so high up your aft, ‘s going to replace that stick of yours…”

“Ah! That’s rich coming from you! Besides, you think you can keep it up long enough to even try?”

“Why you…?!”

Optimus’ grinned widely, pushing a sputtering Sentinel flat on the berth.

Now, it was hard to label either Sentinel or Optimus as a bottom or a top in their strange relationship. In theory, and like all Cybertronians, their interface hardware came in with both set of pseudo ‘reproductive organs’, aka a spike and a valve. In theory, possessing both allowed the owners to trade role as they saw fit. In theory, Optimus could get fragged by Sentinel, then the roles around and frag him in turn.

In theory anyway.

Oh, they did, no doubt about that. The femme once called Elita One could testify – and she still had a few video captures as proof.

(Okay, more than a few, but come on! As a Science tract Cadet, she had plenty of additional lessons to undertake, leaving her with less free time to indulge into a berth romp. So what if she compensated by taking videos of her lovers going at it? It didn’t harm anyone.)

(Yet.)

In practice, however, well… Sentinel tended to take a spike in more often than he did the fragging himself. Not for lack of trying from his part, it should be mentioned, but sadly for him, nature or Primus if he existed hadn’t gifted with as much endurance for berth-related matters as he wistfully wished.

Not when it came to his spike anyway. When he got into the action with it, well… suffice to say, berth plays tended to finish prematurely, much to his frustration. And the frustration of his partners, period.

(Which may or may not explain why, despite being famous and the perfect poster ‘bot for the Elite Guard’s recruitment posters due to his good looks, Sentinel never picked a date to bring home. Savvy people would think it was because he was still mourning Elita One and the abrupt end of his relationship with Optimus. They wouldn’t have been totally wrong about it either.)

Optimus had never truly minded, if only because they had always arranged for extended foreplay beforehand, so it took the edge – and if it made Sentinel happy to take the lead, well, who was he to thwart him?

But that was before, when they had been thick as thieves. Now, Optimus just wanted a frag – and coincidently, so did Sentinel.

So while the blue mech sputtered and threatened Optimus with the worst possible outcomes for his career and his station in the Autobots should he let anyone know of Sentinel’s ‘little’ problem, he really didn’t fight it when his panel retracted and Optimus went straight for his valve, burying his face between Sentinel’s thighs.

In fact, Sentinel grabbed Optimus’ helm and made sure it didn’t move away from there, moaning loudly as he felt a familiar glossa start to lick at his intimate bits. Slag, he had forgotten how good Optimus could be with his tongue!

Which was exactly the moment his spike chose to tuck itself free and spring forward out of its housing, narrowly missing to hit Optimus in the optic.

The red and blue Prime jerked backward and out of Sentinel’s hold, optics wide as he looked up at the other mech and stared. Then slowly, very slowly, he raised an optic ridge. “Did you just try to poke one of my optics out with your Lance again?”

Sentinel’s cheeks flushed. “You swore you would never mention it ever again!” he hissed in anger and embarrassment, he too remembering a previous, ah, ‘similar incident’. Optimus had delighted into making that joke about ‘Sentinel’s good old trusty Lance’ and optic-poking around their fellow Cadets when they had both been at the Academy. Showed just how crass he was!

(Of course, nobody had ever gotten the joke, for which Sentinel was eternally thankful. They had all sort-of assumed that Optimus had been speaking about Sentinel’s weapons of choice and yet another training misshape between the two of them. Sentinel hadn’t come up with the code ‘Broken Lance’ for nothing, much to his sadness; he was just… unlucky.)

“I said I wouldn’t so long it didn’t happen again,” Optimus corrected him, smirking. His lips were wet and stained by Sentinel’s lubricant and he slowly passed his glossa over them, licking away the fluid. “And, oh surprise, it seems you still haven’t learned not to try and _stab_ someone in the face without warning.”

“Jerk!” Sentinel growled, grabbing Optimus’ helm again more forcefully and guiding it back between his legs. There was so much more he wanted to say, none of it very flattering, but if he started throwing insults around, then Optimus would probably throw a fit and leave, and Sentinel was too horny by now to be left frustrated and without a berth partner.

Technically, there was also plenty more Optimus would have wished to say as well, some of which barely more flattering than Sentinel’s own thoughts. He was also very annoyed by the way Sentinel was holding his helmfins – those things were sensitive, slag it all! However, there was a hot, wet valve which was currently begging for his attention and it had been too long since he last had any to just give up now.

So he covered Sentinel’s valve with his mouth and went back to pleasuring the ‘blowhard’ idiot he still sometimes thought of as a friend (usually when he was very drunk, mind you). Supple folds parted under his glossa, lubricant sipped through the small, delectable little hole he’d be fragging in short order and heat radiated from Sentinel’s array, so hot Optimus swore it could melt the paint of his helm. Carefully, he moved his hand, one pressing against the inside of one of Sentinel’s thighs to part it further while the other grabbed the hilt of the blue Prime’s shaft and gave it a few tugs, thumb stroking a biolight that he just _knew_ rested over a sensors cluster.

The noises that escaped Sentinel’s vocalizer were just delectable to his audios. For once, he didn’t mind the fact Sentinel had a loud mouth. A big, loud mouth that could be great at sucking spikes, and Optimus made a mental note to have it do just that later on. His dental plates brushed against Sentinel’s anterior node and the other mech _howled_ as fluids squirted out of his spasming valve and straight into Optimus’ mouth. His other hand wrapped itself around Sentinel’s spike as well, just above the first, and he started to massage and squeeze, playing with it as he felt transfluid slip out of the tip, drenching his digits.

“Frag, frag, frag,” Sentinel panted, body racked by tremors as he finished riding the overload Optimus had so-generously provided him with. His hands had released Optimus’ helm and the red and blue mech lifted his head up, face painted with Sentinel’s lubricant. Apparently, he hadn’t swallowed that much.

“With pleasure,” he purred before leaning back down, giving Sentinel’s spike a few tentative licks before his mouth closed down _just around the tip of Sentinel’s spike and sucked_…

The second overload hit Sentinel like a sack of bricks, hard and fast and he blacked out for a few moments. Perhaps he groaned, or perhaps not; he wasn’t certain, because whatever sound he made, his vocalizer short-circuited half-way through and alerts let him known it had rebooted itself. Same for his optics; one moment he could swear he was looking at Optimus down between his legs and the next, the wash-up was kneeling between his spread thighs, one of Sentinel’s legs haphazardly thrown over his shoulder, making Sentinel’s body tilt to the side while he stroked his own spike with his transfluid-stained fingers, spreading Sentinel’s release all over him.

Sentinel stared. “Is it me or is your spike different?” he blurted out despite himself. He remembered Optimus’ spike as a dark grey thing of average girth and length from top to bottom, with red stripes and blue biolights that Sentinel had more than once carefully mapped with his digits and glossa.

What he had in front of him was still of average length and lenght, sure, but the girth seemed to grow larger toward the bottom. Plus, the tip had gained a more bulbous aspect and had become a dark blue matching Optimus’ paintjob. Biolights still spread all over it in a somewhat familiar spiraling pattern, but their glow was a dull red instead of the blue he remembered.

Optimus shrugged, jostling Sentinel’s leg as he did so. “It had been like that since we got our Earth mode.”

“How? I’m not…” he looked down at his own spike, hanging spent between his legs. Nope, still its usual dark grey, no change here.

“No sure either; Ratchet theorizes our time in stasis might have something to do with it. I don’t especially care,” the red and blue mech commented. He looked down at Sentinel with bright optics. “Like what you see?”

Sentinel gave a jerky nod. “Adequate. Get on with it, will you?” As if he was going to admit the sight was turning him on once more.

“Patience, patience,” Optimus singsonged, still stroking himself and spreading the layer of transfluid all over his shaft.

“Slag it, Optimus! Put that thing in me!”

“Is that an order?” the red and blue mech tilted his head.

Sentinel glared. “Yes, it is,” he hissed, wiggling his aft and trying to get his leg off Optimus’ shoulder, only for the other Prime to grip it stronger. “Frag me, damnit!”

“Well, if you ask that nicely,” Optimus drawled, shifting to close the gap between their bodies. Sentinel shuddered in anticipation. But instead of ramming in as Sentinel thought he would, Optimus guided his rod to Sentinel’s valve calmly and started to rub it against the folds, tracing the plump, hot lips and teasing the ring of calipers with its head. Sentinel is still so wet from his previous overload that there was no friction, only tantalizing pleasure as more fluid drip out of Sentinel and soak the berth and Optimus’ spike.

Just as Sentinel opened his mouth to sarcastically ask if he was going to have to wait much longer, Optimus pushed forward, entering him in one smooth push. Sentinel gasped, body tensing. There was no resistance from his body as Optimus pushed in deeper, still guiding himself with the help of his hand. It was slow and gentle and Sentinel panted and breathed heavily all the way, walls spreading apart in front of the (welcome) intruder stuffing him so full. His hands clenched the foam of his mattress as he clenched his dental plates hard to avoid shooting and begging for more. No way was he begging for Optimus’ spike more than he had already did! He had his dignity, after all!

His resolution lasted exactly until the moment Optimus sat fully inside him. Then the other mech started to thrust, and Sentinel forgot everything he had imagined about keeping quiet.

It had been vorns since they had last tangled together like that and apparently, time had been enough to dull the memory of the strength Optimus held in those hips of his.

Or perhaps Optimus was just less careful than he once was, the sourness between the two of them affecting the way he’d normally make love to his lover.

Whatever the reason, Optimus thrusted hard while still keeping a death grip on Sentinel’s leg, stopping the blue mech from moving too much even as he was jostled around. Sentinel’s back arched with each thrust while he screamed in pleasure (and perhaps, just perhaps a bit of pain, but it wasn’t a bad kind of pain). The angle made Optimus hit a cluster of sensors with each slam he made in Sentinel’s body.

Already spent on two overloads, Sentinel’s body was slower to build up another charge, which was just as Optimus had hoped. He himself felt like he could go like that for a long, long while – it wasn’t for nothing he had taunted Sentinel about walking away from here bow-legged. Sentinel’s valve clenched rhythmically around his rod, hard or shallowly by alternance and depending on the strength with which Optimus moved.

Such a greedy little thing, trying to suck the transfluid out of him, he thought with dark amusement. He would hate to disappoint it, oh yes he would. So he was going to fill it with his release, again and again and again until he and that sweet little valve were both sated (and Sentinel too, of course). It would be easy to do; stamina issues asides, he could imagine fragging his old friend all day long. Sentinel had such a nice valve: tight without being too much so, hot, easily wet,…

He had missed it more than he had imagined.

Optimus groaned as a particularly hard clench almost dragged him over the edge. Primus, it had been close! But he didn’t want it to hand now, he thought with a frown. There were so many positions he wished to indulge in while they were in that berth: Primus’ clergymech, hellhound style,… If Sentinel was really, really nice about it, Optimus was even ready to have him on top of him. Or perhaps he’d let Sentinel eat his valve; he used to love that, didn’t he…?

“O… Optimus!” Sentinel screamed, optics nearly white as he reached closer and closer to his peak. His hands shot up, grabbing the other Prime’s white (well, formally white; now there was a lot of suspicious stains on them) thighs and clenching, faintly denting the metal.

Too much, too much, Optimus thought as he was shaken by a full body tremor, his own overload catching up with him. Transfluid spilled out of his spike, disappearing into the depth of Sentinel’s valve and possibly his gestation chamber (slag, was Sentinel keeping up with his anti-sparking protocols? Optimus did, because Ratchet insisted, but Optimus had no idea how it worked for the Elite Guard). So much transfluid it started slipping out of Sentinel’s valve, finding passages around Optimus’ shaft.

For a long while, there was just a deep silence between them, only broken by the sound of their respective vents working hard to cool down their frames. The air smelled heavily of ozone and burnt circuitry, a familiar scent that brought back memories. The only thing missing was a Cybercat-call and the snapshot of a camera coming from a common friend and occasional third partner who enjoyed watching them together as she watched.

(Elita never minded just watching. In fact, she loved it and she had amassed quite the collection of pictures and homemade movies of two sexy Autobot Cadets getting ‘friendly’ with each other, watching them whenever the mood struck her.)

(Sentinel and Optimus would have both grown very nervous and worried if they had known Blackarachnia still had most of them in her possession. Who knew what she could do with it or who she could show it to?)

Finally, Sentinel stirred.

“Well… is that all?” he grumbled, not quite looking at Optimus as he frowned. “If so, that’s kinda pathetic. Of course, I don’t know what I expected coming from the likes of you.”

“What?” Optimus blinked.

“You said you were going to make me walk bow-legged, weren’t you?” Sentinel huffed. “If that’s all you can do, then it’s clearly an empty promise. I should write you up for lying to a superior officer and…”

Optimus growled and leaned forward to bite down on Sentinel’s neck, making him yelp. Why, that little…! No, no topping for Sentinel, he decided testily. “I did say that, and I fully intend to deliver,” he let out before biting again. “I hope you hadn’t make any other project for tonight, because we’re far, far from being done.”

“Promises, promises,” Sentinel grunted, shifting and feeling Optimus’ spike scraps against the sensitive walls of his valve. “Show me what you got, Optimus _Prime_.”

The red and blue mech smirked, showing dental plates.

“With pleasure.”

**End... For Now.**


	2. Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, what were the rest of Team Prime and the Elite Guard were up to while Sentinel and Optimus were at it like Petro-Rabbits?
> 
> Well...

Bumblebee flopped hard on the ground, groaning. “Booooooring,” he drawled pitifully before looking at Prowl, pointing an accusatory finger in his (and Sari’s, who was standing in the Ninjabot’ lap) direction. “You said fishing was supposed to be a fun activity!”

“It is – for people who have patience,” Prowl replied calmly, a little smile on his lips while Bumblebee groaned about getting tricked and Sari made shushing noises, eyes focused on the river and stiffening her hold on her rod. She wasn’t going back home without catching a fish! No way! Not after finally managing to get her friends to take her fishing, something her Dad never had time for before.

Okay, perhaps fishing was a bit less fun than videos had suggested, and long, but no matter; she had started, and she intended to finish!

Not far from them, Bulkhead wisely kept his head down and turned a deaf audial (helped by the fact he had really turned down part of his audio system) and instead focused on painting the paysage. It wasn’t in Detroit he could find so much green stuffs and it was inspiring. Jazz spent his time hovering behind him and running commentary (“You’re sure you shouldn’t use a lighter shade? Wow, I hadn’t seen that bird, you sure have an optic for details! Eh, how about you add me/Prowl/Sari/Bumblebee be to the picture? Okay, keeping mum!”) or going to bother Prowl (“So, anything happening here?”) or Ultra Magnus and Ratchet.

The two oldest ‘bots of their party had chosen to sit on a spot some distance away, protecting their plating from the grass with old blankets Sari had brought and sewed together like a ‘patchwork’, grinning and joking about something called a ‘picnic’, whatever it was. They seldom interacted with the younger members of the group, but often talking in hushed tones before falling silent whenever Jazz joined up – or starting a whole other conversation with the white mech.

Speaking of the Unicron’s spawn, he came sauntering toward them, a large grin on his face as he sat cross-legged in front of them.

“So, think they have worked it out of their systems by now?”

Ultra Magnus harrumphed and didn’t comment, but Ratchet checked his chronometer and frowned. “Hmm, considering who we’re talking about, I’d give them at least another megacycle – perhaps two. You know at least _one_ of them is going to freak out and want to clean everything up to erase the evidence, so we have to account for the time they’ll spent doing so.”

Jazz nodded wisely. “Yeah, dry transfluid is a pain to remove from mattresses and plating. Though Sentinel got a neat collection of soaps and solvents, so they shouldn’t have too much trouble.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into agreeing,” the Magnus mumbled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his olfactive sensor. Of all the silly things he had ever done, evacuating his ship and its vicinity in order for his Second and the young Prime for whom he had had much hopes before the ‘incident’ with a fellow Cadet to get properly laid by each other was definitely in the Top Ten. Perhaps even the Top Five.

He just hoped it wasn’t a mistake and that, as Jazz and Ratchet had tried to convince him, it’d made things less explosive between his subordinates. Unresolved sexual tension was a pain, the old leader decided.

“I suppose I grew more persuasive since the war,” Ratchet drawled with a pointed look while Jazz gave his leader a thumb up.

“Cheer up, Sir. SP needs the stress relief, and frankly, so did we. Now, I just hope we can keep the younger ‘bots distracted for a while longer,” he said as he looked over his shoulder to Bumblebee, still whining about being bored. Him, Sari and Bulkhead had no idea of the real reason behind Prowl and Jazz’s quick agreement to go fishing or why everyone else fur SP and Optimus had come. “There are things innocent optics shouldn’t see.”

“Tss. I suspect they’re not nearly as innocent as you suspect, but I agree that some things aren’t worth seeing,” Ratchet groused, shifting. “I just hope they keep it to their rooms and don’t get any weird ideas, else I’ll make them clean up behind them with an human toothbrush,” he warned.

“Weird ideas like what? Using the Command Chair of the Steelhaven to… uh, shutting up now, Sir,” Jazz said quickly, seeing the weirded out expression on Ultra Magnus’ face.

“… I didn’t need that image,” he muttered, rubbing circles along his temples (though part of him whispered that the two Primes together in his chair would certainly be pretty nice to look at. Not like he had to join him, yes?). “Please, do not mention it again.”

“Yes Sir,” Jazz saluted, but his smile indicated he was all but repentant.

Behind his visor, he gave Ultra Magnus and Ratchet’s speculative looks. They had managed to push Sentinel and Optimus together for ‘mutual stress relief’; perhaps he could manage the same with his Boss and the old, clearly overstressed medic?

Hmm, that was a project to ponder in the future, he decided as he let himself fall on the blanket, grinning as he started to watch the clouds.

A very interesting project indeed…

**End**


End file.
